


Sanctuary

by ultrapsychobrat



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrapsychobrat/pseuds/ultrapsychobrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarrant discovers some surprises as he explores the Liberator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

The soft, creamy coverlet slipped through his fingers, cool and sensual at first touch, warming immediately to his body heat. He enjoyed the sensation, the hint of decadence adding to his pleasure. Quite a place this was—who'd have thought it possible on this ship seemingly designed for androids and cyborgs. Resting his head back on one folded arm, he gazed out at the star-bright blackness of deep space curving above the large bed—a view port of unique delight. What would it be like to lie here every night, cradled in comfort, all senses catered to—a king surveying his kingdom, invincible. No planet-bound palace could compare with this, ever.

Turning his head slightly, he glanced around his discovery again. The swirling light patterns of the translucent walls were hypnotic as they blended, separated, slid together—moving, ever moving. Stirred, he closed his eyes, moved restlessly. The soldier in him spurned the ease of existence this room depicted, yet his love of comfort and luxury embraced these magnificent surroundings of silk cream, crystal and glass. The place hinted of an opulence he could only imagine, but would whole-heartedly embrace if it were offered. Or perhaps…it was his for the taking.

The lingering fragrance of some spicy body scent drifted up from the silken bed cover and the myriad of pillows strewn about. Familiar, he realized—erotic…yet, somehow associated with anger and frustration. Restless again, he stood up, shaking off the vague irritation. The illusive click of recognition skittered away.

He walked on feet made silent by the thick carpet which spread across the expanse of this room like a sea of ivory fur to the mirrored wall at the far back. Veins of gold twined through the smoky panels, sparkling here and there at points of his reflection. A quick touch, a slight pressure, and a four foot section of the wall swung aside to reveal a softly lighted closet, lined down both sides of a narrow walkway with assorted pieces of clothing. The same scent of spice reached him, stronger here. Entering, he fingered a green shirt, a leather vest, something in soft suede, rich brown, then reached above the clothes to take down a small hand-tooled box of rare wood. Fingering the catch, he found to his disappointed curiosity that the box was locked.

The next moment Tarrant started violently and then froze as the hard crystal point of a gun pushed painfully into his neck.

"Don't move, Tarrant," a silky voice whispered.

The imperfectly held box dropped to the floor, bounced once on the dense rug and then lay still. The gun was rock-steady. "Avon."

"Or, on the other hand, perhaps you should move. I might enjoy the consequences. Or do you really believe that loquacious tongue of yours can get you out of this one?"

Tarrant turned around carefully. The dark hooded eyes which bored into him held a cold, smiling touch of the insane. In spite of his best intentions, Tarrant could not stop the chill that ran down his spine and clenched the muscles in his jaw. Then his own anger flared, driving out all other reactions. "Glad to see you're standing watch with your usual efficiency. Our lives are safe in your hands, as always."

"Your life is very close to its miserable end," Avon remarked softly, moving the pistol from his neck to point it some inches downward. Tarrant's eyes fell to its gleaming surface, held lethally still. "You will leave, now," the tone was almost reasonable. "You will never enter this room again. If you should I will kill you."

Tarrant swallowed hard, searching for his voice and words to speak, finding neither. He blinked, looked down at the overturned box, and shoved past the other. Blood flamed in his cheeks as he hurried from the room, impotent fury engulfing him, blinding his eyes to the magnificence he had so recently admired. _One day I will kill you, Kerr Avon. One day soon_.

****

Alone in the absolute silence, his sanctuary enveloping him, shielding him, Avon opened his fist and the gun dropped unheeded from suddenly benumbed fingers. He stooed at last and with hands that shook but a fraction, reached for the rather roughly hewn wooden box, touched it briefly, and replaced it on the shelf. Dark tormented eyes never saw the woman who stood silently, curls bowed in the doorway, who turned, moving quickly away on whispered feet.

****

The flight deck was not abandoned as he had hoped. Dayna and Vila were seated in the lounge horseshoe, intent on some new board game, an argument of strategy in progress. If life were fair, this would have been a military ship, and Avon would have been summarily shot for desertion.

Jaw set, Tarrant threw himself against his station's backrest and automatically checked the instrument readings. All was as it should be--more's the pity. He tapped his fingers restlessly on the screen, seething with unexpressed anger. "Isn't Avon supposed to be on watch?" he erupted finally. "Or is he now exempt from that, as well?"

"And what's wrong with you?" Vila's face was bland, but his eyes were sharp with curiosity.

Tarrant blinked once, twice, and drew breath. "Why nothing, Vila. I very much enjoy the element of suspense Avon brings to our lives. Do we die today or tomorrow?"

"Avon got up your nose, did he?" Villa nodded again with great wisdom, as if acquired through hard experience. "He's like that."

"Thank you, Vila, for that helpful information."

"You needn't take it out on me. You just don't use your brains, for all your high opinion of yourself. Ask Cally, she'll tell you." Vila gazed off into the distance as he warmed to his topic. "Avon's like a low level force field, you see. Hit him full power and he'll knock you flat. You have to edge into Avon, stay calm, even--like you don't care one way or another. For example, just the other day, I was--"

"Vila!"

Interrupted, Vila stopped, looking a bit put out. "I was just tryin' to help. Go on then, cut off your nose. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"What happened, Tarrant?"

He started a bit, unaware that Cally had come in and was standing at his side.

Her voice was low, pitched for his ears alone, but her eyes were direct and knowing. "Is Avon all right?"

"Avon?" The surprise was only momentary. Yes, of course, Avon, the one everyone was concerned about. What had he expected? He looked away from her. "Well, that depends on what you mean by all right, doesn't it? I'd say the man is insane."

Tarrant's voice carried, where Cally's had not. Game forgotten for the more interesting prospect of gossip, Vila made his way up to the pilot's position, shamelessly eavesdropping. "Could'a told you that," he muttered.

"What?" Tarrant snapped, his anger at Avon engulfing the weaker man.

"Nothing, nothing." Vila affected a look of sincere innocence.

"Then shut up!"

"Oh, yes, sir," Vila intoned in mock military style and leaned against the reverse of his own station rest. He raised an eyebrow at Dayna who walked up now and joined the little group, glancing inquiringly from Cally to Tarrant.

"Tarrant's had a go with Avon." Vila seemingly unperturbed by Tarrant's scowl, continued, "Didn't turn out in his favor, I'd say. Not that Tarrant's not right. I mean, I'd vote that Avon's insane, wouldn't you?"

"Of course, not!" Dayna said, frowning. "Avon's brilliant."

"Oh, yes, I'll give him that. Genius. But that's just my point, innit?"

"Do be quiet, Vila," Cally said tiredly.

"Well, it is. Everyone knows about genius and insanity."

"Something you'll never have to worry about," snapped Tarrant.

"And grateful I am. Of course, I've lots of company." Vila grinned wickedly as the pilot's face flushed red. No one knew better than he how much Tarrant wanted control of the Liberator and her crew, and how miserably he'd failed at that objective--due entirely to Avon.

"Stop it!" The sharp note from the usually soft spoken Cally startled them to silence. Her implacable stare swept over them all, returning to Tarrant and remaining there. "I want to know what happened between you and Avon."

The young man smiled with obvious lack of humor. "I don't really know."

"Tarrant...."

He held up a restraining hand. "That's the truth. I was merely taking a look at that short hallway off the starboard hold. I've been trying to learn the ship's plan in case of...." His voice faltered for a moment as he watched the quick look of inquiry Vila gave Cally, but she paid no attention, her eyes riveted on Tarrant. "What's going on here?" he demanded, looking at Vila.

"Go on," the Auron prompted, calling back his attention.

He faced her impassive gaze stubbornly for a few moments, but then continued, "I found this unbelievably luxurious suite--more room than the rest of the crew's quarters combined--and was merely having a look round when Avon sneaked in behind me, put a gun to my throat and threatened to kill me." His voice had risen in indignation.

"Surprised he didn't," Vila muttered,.

A frown of confusion creasing his brow, Tarrant went on, "I take it the room belongs to Avon, though why it should while the rest of us make do with barrack quarters is another matter, but I--" He broke off once more as Vila's voice cut in.

"Not his, theirs."

"Their's?" Dayna echoed.

"Vila...," Cally warned, but went unheeded.

"His and Blake's, when Blake was here. Before...." The thief's voice held a wistfulness for times long gone.

"You're joking!" Tarrant laughed in disbelief. "Avon? Why would anyone want him?"

"What would you know?" Vila's voice was sharp with real anger as he glowered at the younger man.

"Well, I think it's sweet," Dayna stated firmly, also turning a hard stare on Tarrant before looking at Cally expectantly. "Were they in love?"

"It's very complex, Dayna, and none of our business." This last was directed at Vila with a meaningful look. At that she effectively herded the two of them off the console tier and back to their game board. After a few moments in thought, she returned to Tarrant's side. He met her calm expression with one of sullen dissatisfaction. Shaking her head at his usual lack of perception, she smiled and took his arm, coaxing him into accompanying her to the nearby crew lounge.

 

"You must never go near that room again," she began as they sat on opposite sides of a small plastisteel table. Tarrant stared into the contents of the cup he turned between his hands, the stubborn set of his jaw boding poorly for the acceptance of her counsel. "He will most surely kill you."

His head came up, confusion mixed with anger. "Because of a room? That really is insane."

"Perhaps," she agreed, "but nonetheless true. Back off from this, Tarrant. I don't believe Avon is any longer responsible for his reactions concerning Blake, if he ever were."

"Why do you put up with him?" Cally seemed like a sensible person, even if she was a bit of a fanatic about keeping the Federation from regaining its power.

"_Liberator_ now belongs to Avon; Blake promised it to him if he helped defend the galaxy against the alien invaders."

"He left _Liberator_; I was the one who reclaimed it, not Avon. By salvage rights, this ship belongs to me, no matter what Blake said. It would still be mine even if Blake himself came back."

"Oh, Tarrant, I understand that you're young and impulsive, but you can't honestly believe what you're saying." She smiled and shook her head. "There is no way you're going to take _Liberator_ from Avon. Not only wouldn't Avon allow it, neither would I. Better still, ask Zen; he will tell you who he acknowledges as the one in command. And it is up to Zen, you know."

He grimaced in distaste. "Zen's a bloody computer. It can be reprogrammed."

"By you?"

He looked away and didn't answer. There were other computer techs besides Avon, better ones probably. The galaxy was a big place.

"Tarrant...."

"Give it a rest, Cally. Your precious Avon is safe...for now." He stood up and walked out of the lounge. Let Avon have his little shrine, or whatever it was. The man was certifiably insane, and he was going to do something about it, no matter what Cally said. Zen would just have to deal with the change in hierarchy; it was a goddamned computer.


End file.
